stained glass heart
by your broken things
Summary: "And just then, your stained glass heart feels gold and black and blue and something distinctly the color of clouds and sky on an autumn evening, when the wind is blowing in your face but you feel beautiful all the same."Cedric, Cho, and angels falling. / for HPFC, Quotes Challenge.


**AN: Hi. This is for HPFC, Quotes Challenge- Allons-y Lovelies.**

**The quote: "But the thing is, [name], even angels fall."**

* * *

You've got a stained glass heart.

It was painted **red **and colored **black**; but once, when you were young, you took crayons and colored it pink; the supposed color of love.

That's a lie, and you know it.

Love isn't pink. Pink is fluffy and princess-y and childish.

Love is everything black and red and blue and all things _vivid_; all things memorable.

Pink isn't memorable.

(so nor is your heart)

* * *

You're plain. You're boring. You're no spark; you're the heavy, boring rain, or maybe the dull, hanging cloud. Whatever you are…you're a nobody. You're just **C/h/o C/h/a/n/g, **the oddity. You're supposedly "popular," but no one likes you really; they like you because your mother's got contacts, and you're in fifth year now, and careers become _serious_. But who cares? Enjoy the popularity. Giggle with the girls, babe, and cover up the scars. It's okay; there's no one except a ghost-girl in glasses to see you, and she'll cry too.

You still have those bruises from the summer holidays, and they won't go away; they're staining your glass heart a dark, ugly purple.

* * *

You've been getting glances from Harry Potter for two years.

Not the mean ones, either.

But he never acts on them; so don't feel guilty when the resident _angel_ asks you to go to the ball with him.

Harry asks you exactly six minutes and twenty-four seconds later, and you've never felt worse.

* * *

Harry's coming with one of the Patil freaks. You've never liked them, but you _hate _them now.

Still; you're growing feelings for Cedric, because he's an _angel_, he really is; he's got wavy bronze hair and he really cares about you and you think you might be in love. Think. Delude yourself; it's a perfect illusion, and you're watching from inside your stained glass heart. It's gold right now; let it shine.

So walk around hand in hand; let him walk you back to your common room every night. Just pretend that you really _are _madlyin love, that you don't like Harry at all, and you'll be fine.

No- no, no guilt- stop it-

* * *

He tells you he loves you the night of the ball.

You were watching Harry watch you dance the entire night.

* * *

He's all gone, honey.

No more bronze hair and whispered 'I love you'. All finished.

He died thinking you loved him back, and that is the worst deception you ever could have done; you spend all your time _sobbing_, and you know they're calling you the 'human hosepipe' behind your back. Let the tears fall. It's the night before his funeral, and your stained glass heart is just about colored black. You're wearing black robes, and you're about to tie your hair…

"_Cho, you're so pretty. Leave your hair down for once."_

So you do.

* * *

You're crying in the bathroom, in your dorm, when Luna Lovegood walks in; you've never liked her. She's so _happy _being odd; you hate it.

She asks you what's wrong.

You pour it out, too, how he was angelic and flawless and you didn't deserve to be loved, not by him; and she answers with those unexpected pieces of wisdom she always has when you need them.

"He was an angel, you're right. But the thing is, Cho, even angels fall."

You sniffle, and burst back into tears. "You think he's up there, blaming me?"

She nods wisely. "Oh, yes. Up there with the Wyngerd Cielovans. But angels are flawless, aren't they? They aren't petty. You'll be just fine."

And you smile; and maybe just manage a giggle. It's half-sob, half humor, and you love it and hate it at the same time.

And just then, your stained glass heart feels gold and black and blue and something distinctly the color of clouds and sky on an autumn evening, when the wind is blowing in your face but you feel beautiful all the same. But then you catch sight of a mirror, and you realise you're such a hideous person inside-

Your angel isn't flawless, Cho. And he's up there, waiting, and he _knows _you're a traitor; and the comment about those _stupid _made up creatures make you realize just how stupid you were to seek comfort from someone insane. He's probably furious, and he'll have that broken, betrayed look on his face that makes your stained glass heart shatter into a million shards-

It's twisted how you fell in love with him after he died.


End file.
